Reciprocal
by peppermintshoes
Summary: She was a healer. Always there, always strong, always a rock. Now it was his turn to reciprocate.


Title: Reciprocal

Rating: PG

Characters/Pairings: Unohana, Ukitake

Disclaimer: I do not own bleach.

Summary: _She was a healer, always there, always strong, always a rock. Now it was his turn to reciprocate. FutureFic  
_

A/N: Written for lil-monk and myalchod, for the former because she sees it as a "crack pairing" and for the latter because she, like myself, thinks that these two would be awesomesauce together. This is not even remotely how I intended for this story turn out. I blame watching "the last samurai" right before writing it...

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**Reciprocal**

As a healer, the concepts of injury and death were not new to Unohana Retsu. In fact, she mused, she had probably seen more death during her time as a captain than anyone else in the Gotei 13, Zaraki Kenpachi included. Over the years she had treated many people. Some had survived, some had not; dying was a fact of their existence, one which - on a purely intellectual level - she understood perfectly. Yet for all the death she had seen over the years Unohana Retsu, as she looked forlornly across the vast expanse before her, for once could not bring herself to consider death with the same clinical detachment that usually came so easily to her.

The field was littered with dead bodies, black and white mingled indiscriminately; Shinigami and Arrancar alike lay motionless and bloodied on the battlefield. The fighting had ceased and the war had been won, but at what cost? Could they truly justify the loss of so many good men and women? Did the end justify the means? Unohana felt ill as she studied the sight before her, revolted yet somehow unable to draw her eyes away. It was, she decided, a little like watching Kenpachi spar with the occasional challenger for his captaincy; the outcome was inevitable, yet some kind of morbid fascination would always kick in and very few could find the willpower to look away. From her vantage point near the back opening of the large healers' tent, she could see her team working slowly yet steadily to recover the bodies of the shinigami, the occasional cry for assistance echoing across the expanse as a survivor was found.

The sun shone cheerily down on the scene before her and it struck Unohana as inexplicably _wrong_ that the field before her should be so well lit. The last few days of battle had been nothing short of a massacre. Surely, after all the carnage, it should be raining, or overcast or _something_ other than bright and cheerful and _sunny_ as though everything was normal. The sun shone, time still passed and Unohana felt an irrational anger at the world for not stopping to mourn the dead with the rest of them. She sighed and closed her eyes, attempting to rid herself of her anger and stave off her exhaustion.

It had been four days. Four days straight that Unohana had been awake and tending tirelessly to the most seriously wounded casualties. Despite consuming copious amounts of the fourth division's fortification pills, Unohana knew there was only so much they could do for her. There was a limit to what her body could endure, and after ninety-six hours without sleep that limit was fast approaching. Her limbs throbbed, her vision swam every time she stood and she was finding it increasingly difficult to maintain her usual calm and gentle demeanour, not to mention her concentration. Already she had snapped twice at poor Hanatarou, not to mention yelling at several of the lower, unseated officers. She had apologised, of course, but it was obvious to everyone around that she was at her limit.

Isane knew better than to suggest to her Captain that she take the time to sleep; she had served under Unohana for long enough to know a futile argument when she saw one. Instead, she had urged her Captain to take a few moments to sit and rest, bullying her mercilessly until she complied. It was thus that Unohana ended up semi-isolated at the back of the healers' tent, her eyes staring unseeing at the carnage before her, her head in her hands.

A sudden wave of exhaustion overcame her and she swayed on the spot, her hands reaching blindly for something to steady herself on. She expected to encounter the fabric of the tent wall, or perhaps a storage crate or two. What she had not expected was a strong set of hands to clamp themselves onto her shoulders and for the owner of the aforementioned hands to sit the two of them down on a large crate of unopened medical supplies. He said nothing, but placed one arm around shoulders and grasped her right hand with his own. She spared him a quick glance and a small smile of gratitude, indulging herself a moment to consider the irony of the situation. She was a healer, a comforter. How many times had she held the hand of this man, comforting him as he was doing now. She was supposed to be strong for everyone else, yet here she was, exhausted both emotionally and physically and being comforted by her most frequently ill patient.

He too, seemed to see the irony, and he made a brief remark about reciprocating the comfort he had so often sought from her. Apparently he seemed to think that it was "his turn to be the strong one". Unohana tried to laugh and assure him of how unnecessary such a declaration was, but no words came out. Her shoulders shook as her brief, watery laugh turned to something different and she tried desperately to repress the silent sobs that threatened to escape her. She pursed her lips and mentally scolded herself. She was a healer. She was not emotional. She was calm, she was composed, she was a rock. Yet no matter how many times she repeated the familiar mantra to herself she could not repress the sobs. Her body and mind were exhausted, and she knew it would only be a matter of hours before she passed out. Her strength was gone, her reiatsu was depleted and the last of her willpower seemed to be on its way out. They had defeated the Arrancar, but for all the damage they had taken they may as well have lost the war. No matter how she looked at it, the situation suddenly seemed hopeless beyond all compare. Despair overwhelmed her and with a choked sob she gave into the grief that had been pounding at her heart for so many months whilst the war had raged. The tears she had been holding back finally escaped and now that she had let herself start, she was unsure if she would ever be able to stop.

She had seen so much more than the average Shinigami during their war with the Arrancar and she longed desperately to forget a large portion of it. Her heart had broken a little every time her division's doors had slid open to reveal yet another casualty being supported, dragged or carried by the emergency medical teams or their own squad members. She had witnessed cuts, abrasions, concussions, brain injuries, broken bones, lost limbs, decapitations and more. The horrors that faced her every day soon became one unpleasant blur, one which seemed to be preying on her moment of vulnerability, her mind accosting her with image after image of the gruesome sights she had seen. The images swirled around her mind and tears leaked out of her tightly shut eyes.

Without a word, her white-haired compatriot moved closer and wrapped his arms around her, holding her tight. She turned to him and sobbed, her blood-stained hands fisting in his equally filthy white Haori. He held her while she cried, his own tears suppressed for the moment. For centuries, this woman had been his strength when he needed it. It was his turn to return the favour.

Her sobs subsided after several minutes, and with a quick, watery smile of thanks she rose, at the same time extracting several fortification pills from her stained haori and swallowing them. He implored her to rest a few minutes longer, a plea which was blatantly ignored as the healer bustled off to check a crate of medical supplies. He sighed and walked after her, uncomfortable at what he was about to do.

"Retsu."

Unohana turned, unsurprised at who she found standing behind her. There was only one person who ever called her by her first name, not to mention without an honorific. She was quite surprised, however, with what happened next. With a covert look to the fourth division's vice captain, and a swift nod of affirmation, he brought his hands up in front of the dark-haired woman, muttered a few quick words of kidou and watched – somewhat guiltily – as her body fell limp and unconscious into his waiting arms. In one quick movement he scooped her up and deposited her unconscious form on an empty bed in the corner, covering her with a nearby blanket. He glanced quickly around the room to make sure no one was looking, then ducked his head, kissing her gently on the forehead.

"You'll thank me later." He told her unconscious form, standing himself up and preparing to leave.

He clasped her hand in his for a moment then bent down and whispered in her ear, "Don't fret, I'll be here when you wake."

He was.

END

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A/N Blaaargh, cheesy endings for the win, no?

I must admit this is not the best thing I have ever written, but I don't really know how to make it better, so meh.

As always, feedback is appreciated, concrit especially.


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